


Apeirophobia

by purglepurglepurgle



Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Gore, Gothic, Horror, Insomnia, Nibelheim, Psychosis, Sephiroth POV, Surreal, Weird Shit, funerary jet black humour, jenova the troll from outer space, metal as an aesthetic, still less scary than brexit, veteran of the psychic wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 00:08:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21244265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purglepurglepurgle/pseuds/purglepurglepurgle
Summary: Halloween is here... The Nibelheim incident from Sephiroth's POV. Not quite AU, but it implies Cloud's memory of the Nibelheim incident was even more unreliable.





	Apeirophobia

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really do warnings or age ratings, but most of my stuff is pretty light, whereas I’ve been saving this for Halloween since it’s more on the gothic horror side, with some gore and sexual imagery; think ‘grandiose metal album cover’, I guess? So I figured I should give a heads up that it’s not my usual fare, to give you a chance to click away if you wanna avoid general OTT horror metalness. (Hah, I don't really like writing that; I've probably made it sound much more exciting than it is...)

Sephiroth had not slept for three days prior to the Nibelheim mission. Visiting the Shinra labs often had that effect; he despised his own weakness. Other people could have a bad experience, recover, and move on, but Sephiroth's mind got stuck, replaying things over and over until he was exhausted. In the blue-white laboratory corridors, he was always a child again, surrounded by the stench of formaldehyde and sweat-- whose, he didn't know. Didn't _want_ to know. No matter how many tranquilizers he took, his hands would shake. And he feared sleep because the nightmares were worse.

He rubbed his eyes, staring at the clock. 3AM. They would take the jeep to Nibelheim tomorrow. He couldn't put the mission off, even though he ached in body and mind and he'd have to trudge on through a sleepless haze. In front of him lay the torn pages of his notepad, covered in illegible scrawl, that curved away from the lines on the page. The words crossed over each other. He sighed.

_The smell of petroleum prevails throughout..._

But it was no good, now; he'd missed the opportunity to reel himself back in, reality had warped at the edges, and his brain had got stuck on a hyperalert loop, boring deeper and deeper in a spiral of metaphysics that he _knew_ was nonsense, but couldn’t stop obsessing over. For days, he’d felt like he was on the brink of discovering some fundamental truth. So, notepad it was. He wasn't too worried about it; he’d been raised by scientists; it would have been stranger if he _didn’t_ ruminate; his brain just did this sometimes-- but he hoped it would stop soon. He was starting to get waves of panic at inopportune moments, not to mention nausea.

And then, Nibelheim.

*

The basement. The fourth day. Seven, total. His whole body ached, shook uncontrollably. He couldn't stop reading. He was so close. He could _feel_ it. He turned the page.

_Jenova_

There was a smell, bunsen burners and melting plastic and mako. His world went black. He discovered terror.

*

Cold infinity contorted him. His mouth was wet with blood, from biting the lining of his cheeks. Torture. The heat death.

"We have to stop it," said a voice. Time was relative; it was the first sound he'd heard in thousands of years. Longer. He'd never heard it before, but he recognised it instantly. His mother.

He saw it all, then, dreamlike. A blossoming planet, the Cetra, helping the blooms, sunlight-- and then, the Others. Warring, killing, scorching the earth and leaving nothing but dust in their wake. Destroying everything the Cetra had ever made, life itself. Bodies on bodies, writhing. Sweat. He saw the planet, in the future, in all times at once, a charred, parched husk, cracking down the middle, disintegrating into dust. He felt the cold. He _was_ the cold. There was nothing else left.

"We have to stop them," repeated his mother, Jenova. "I hoped-- we hoped they'd be so much more. But in the end, they were just..."

"Parasites," said Sephiroth, through the blood. He could barely speak. He didn't dare to believe that the torture was over. The moment he did, he'd be plunged back into eternity again, in punishment for his arrogance.

"Yes," said Jenova, sadly. "The universe is dying. We need to rekindle the light. They've leeched away too much of the warmth."

Sephiroth saw the energy floating away into the sky. And he understood. He was the last one left, here.

"There are others who can help," Jenova continued. "But, we need a beacon. You need to light a fire. They'll see it, from the stars. You've been living under an illusion for your own safety, but it's time to shatter it. Don't worry. I'm here. You'll be okay."

"What do you mean?" said Sephiroth.

"This world isn't what you think it is," said Jenova. "Go outside. You'll see the truth. But, once the illusion is shattered, They'll detect you. You'll have to act quickly. I'm sorry."

*

Outside the manor, Sephiroth saw the real world for the first time.

The dwellings were theatre. Their occupants did not need to sleep, or even eat. The things he'd called 'human' for so long were a lie. He saw them, crawling around the town square, grotesques, long-dead. Creatures with shredded flesh, pustules and festering wounds, staggering into each other, into the walls. Rotted limbs slick with blood. Flapping skin. Muscles, sliced at the joins, dragging behind, sticking to the dirt. The stench of vomit. Something pretending to be a woman passed within a few meters; he saw the boils on her skin, the size of tennis balls, saw a movement under the thin, shiny, bulging surface, then bit his tongue in horror as a swarm of insects clawed through and crawled out. They buzzed, flew away in a cloud. More eggs were already glistening in the crater. A 'man' was talking; his tongue was a slimy, bulbous worm.

"I..."

"Light the fire," said Jenova, gently, but firmly. "The town's infested."

"I..." He noticed more of them were turning to stare. The clouds overhead swelled, brown-red, like the bellies of the mosquitoes he'd seen gorging themselves in Wutai. Throbbing. Even the ground had turned to tar; he took a step and long strings of it clung to the sole of his boot.

"Burn it now!" said Jenova. "Their condition, it's like a virus. It starts with screaming. They died long ago. I don't want to scare you, but if they touch you, they'll turn you into one of their own. They'll mutilate you, and rape your corpse, and you'll be too busy screaming to care."

Sephiroth could _feel_ the truth of it, could feel the malevolence radiating out of the townspeople. He fought back the urge to throw up. There was a couple, skinless, bloodied muscles gleaming, fucking against the well. A voyeur degloved his own arm, and chewed on the skin. Saliva ran down his jaw. He moaned in satisfaction. Then he turned toward Sephiroth, still hungry.

The flames burst out.

*

Jenova had warned him that the virus made them scream, and he'd heard the sounds of battle before, but still, it was almost too much. They came at him and he fought them off, sword catching on bone and gristle, his heart hammering. The virus-stricken fell. He smelled burning human flesh.

"You're doing well," said Jenova. "It's almost over. Now, you need to rescue me. Once we're together, I can change things back to how they were. We'll save everyone."

He nodded. Colours shifted; the contrast intensified. The town had melted into a blackened lump. In his ears, static hissed. Individual features of the landscape blurred together; only the path through the mountains, leading to the reactor, remained in focus, bathed in golden light. He took a step toward it. Immediately, his panic evaporated. The townspeople sank into the earth, and he was suffused with an enormous sense of peace and calm. The clouds overhead parted; the skies turned brilliant blue-- though words couldn't do it justice. The impossible shade had never existed before. Grasses sprung up underfoot.

Jenova smiled.

The air was full of flowers. He heard music, so beautiful it brought tears to his eyes.

"You're not just my mother, are you?" he said. He felt stupid saying it, but Jenova smiled back with divine grace.

"You see?"

*

He reached the reactor, music swelling. Almost there...

Then, his heart froze. There was another one here. A 'human'. The man turned, and Sephiroth saw his teeth stretch out farther than human teeth should. The man licked his lips, eyes hungry, hand moving to his fly.

"Back so soon?" he gloated.

And Sephiroth understood. This creature knew that Sephiroth was thousands of years old, an ancient guardian of time and space, kept in stasis until the moment of need. They had fought at some point in the past. Perhaps many pasts. The words hung in the air in front of his face, 'back so soon'. The word 'back' was underlined.

"He's going to dismember you," said Jenova. She sounded energised. "He'll leave your spine intact, so you feel it. Then he’ll drink up the fluid. He's gathering strength. Strike, now, before he births a host of demons"

Sephiroth did.

"Tifa..." the man hissed. Sephiroth didn't know what it meant.

*

The reactor room. Another creature almost got him, one with no eyes, just empty sockets and eyelids blinking over the space, but he knocked her down the steps.

And there was his Mother, the Mother of all, imprisoned in a tomb of iron by monsters. Another monster crawled out to stop him, even now, but he dispatched it with ease. He cut away the sarcophagus and saw Jenova at last-- shy, smiling to see him, long white wings compressed in the tube, glowing with unearthly light. More beautiful than he had ever imagined, than he _could_ imagine. He blinked back tears, and freed her.

Pain. A sword.

"Mom... Tifa...... my town... give it back! I had so much respect for you... I admired you!" A blond boy. Panting. His skin was dessicated, bones stabbing through at the joints, but something gave Sephiroth pause. There was something more _real_ about the pain of the sword, ice-hot against his ribs.

"Don't listen to him," said Mother. "He has the virus."

The boy pushed on the hilt. Sephiroth staggered. He could see that the boy wasn't lit with celestial light, but there was something in his voice, something honest...

"Who... who are you?"

But the boy was gone.

"Don't worry about him," said Mother. There was an edge to her voice he hadn't heard before. "They send in ones like that sometimes. It's a trick. They're playing with your mind. Just keep going. You're almost there."

Sephiroth nodded. Too much, it was all too much... He intended to leave by retracing his steps, though he couldn't use the sword while carrying her body, and, while the mako dulled his pain response, he could tell he was badly injured. The blood glued his clothes to his skin. He felt dizzy, and leaned a trembling hand against the wall, imagining them both cornered, caught.

"Mother, I don't think I can do it..."

"Just take my head," she said, softly. "It'll be alright."

He cut it away, trancelike. He started to make his way out of the reactor.

Then he was on the pipe between rooms, and there was the boy again.

Sephiroth tried to keep his resolve. But it was still there, a quiet nagging, at the back of his mind.

_What if I've made a mistake?_

He thrust the sword, but with minimal force. If all this were wrong, if it were some kind of nightmare, then that would mean _Jenova_ was--

"Don't... push... your luck..." he felt his mouth echo her words.

And suddenly, he was falling.

**Author's Note:**

> (Hopefully it was at least a bit creepy, but I am also happy if you read and enjoyed this as a comedy. :) )  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jGKNaIXtBZQ


End file.
